“Sure thing!––if he hasn’t changed his mind about working?”
“Not me!” answered Phil.
“All right!” said Jim. “Me for the Court House. I’m only a couple of hours late now. See you later, Phil!”
Royce Pederstone went into the forge, doffed his coat, rolled up his sleeves and put on his leather apron.
Phil followed suit with an apron of Hanson’s, and soon the doors were wide open, the fires blowing and the anvil ringing, drowning the groans and shouts that came from Hanson as he lay like a trussed fowl in the adjoining stable.
“I’m sorry this has taken place on the first day of your apprenticeship, young man, but it has been pending for some time. After this is over, you won’t be afraid to be left with Hanson, I hope. He’ll be all right in a few hours, and very much ashamed of himself you will find him.”
“I’m not afraid,” said Phil. “I am just beginning to discover that fear is the greatest devil we have to contend with and that the less we worry about it the less real and the more a mere bogey it becomes.”
“True for you, Phil. And the older you grow the more you’ll realise the wisdom of what you say.
“Well, it is just a year since Hanson had his last drinking bout. I was beginning to think he had got completely over it. He is not likely to break out again for ever so long.”
“What is it exactly that gets him?” asked Phil.